


Adore

by midnightfeast



Series: Finding Inspiration Prompt Challenge [1]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Drunk idiots, M/M, Pre-Relationship, talking about sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-21
Updated: 2021-01-21
Packaged: 2021-03-15 21:21:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28819896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/midnightfeast/pseuds/midnightfeast
Summary: “I don’t even know about your first kiss. How have I never asked you this before? Was she pretty?”Oh, he had asked countless of times, but Madara had been skilled enough to deceive his efforts.For some reason, tonight was different. Tonight, Hashirama would not let him get away with deception.Maybe it was the alcohol, probably the raw emotions of a hurting and bleeding breakup that had Hashirama turn onto all-fours and crawl towards Madara with piercing eyes and under that intense gaze, Madara heart started to race. “Or was it a man? You know I don’t care.”Or: Closing in on thirty, Madara is convinced that he'll live the rest of his life as an unkissed virgin, because there is only one person he wants. After another break-up, Hashirama finds himself on Madara's carpet, drunk and curious.
Relationships: Senju Hashirama/Uchiha Madara
Series: Finding Inspiration Prompt Challenge [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2049150
Comments: 32
Kudos: 90





	Adore

**Author's Note:**

> I'm incompetend and still don't understand how to include links... well, I'll just keep doing it like this :) 
> 
> Prompt (selected by Mike_Remington_Hanson from: https://otpprompts.tumblr.com/post/174140785728/college-prompt): 
> 
> Person A sits on the last bench in a corner and writes things like ‘I hate physics’, 'I’m bored’, etc on the desk. Person B takes another course which is conducted in that same room, sits at the same desk and replies to all what person A writes. Now they have shared all their life stories with each other except for their identities. 
> 
> This prompt plays a minor role and is not the main plot, you'll see.  
> This is somehow exactly like I wanted it to be and simultaneously nothing at all like it. The scene I had in mind didn't even make it into this story lol.  
> Enjoy!

When Madara’s doorbell rang on a lonely Friday night, he knew only one person brave enough to surprise him like this.

And sure enough, Hashirama was at Madara’s door with more alcohol than even he would stomach and a sulky pout on his face. “Can I come in?”

There was a red stain on his white pullover and wrinkles in his green trousers. His jacket was half of his shoulders, his hair barely kept together in a low knot and there was a telling wetness to his cheeks.

The night was mild and calm, just like summer nights tended to be, but Hashirama looked like he had sprinted through a hurricane.

Something had happened and Madara was not sure what he was supposed to say, so he only stepped aside and allowed Hashirama to breeze past him into his small apartment.

To turn his head and watch Hashirama's back move away from him was a small allowance Madara made himself. He had to be careful with his silent admiration, surely his emotions had to be plain obvious in moments like these, but there was also no way to stop himself.

Hashirama was taller than him and broader too. He moved with the unconscious grace of someone strong enough to afford constant softness and still no one would dare call him anything but a great man. His strong jawline and intense eyes did not deter from the first hint of laugh lines even though there was a tension there now that spoke of more serious matters.

Madara closed the door. “What happened?”

Instead of answering, Hashirama wiped all books and papers from the living room table to drop down the bottles of sake and vodka he had brought.

Hashirama only ever got careless with things like these when he was agitated to his very core.

Great. Fantastic.

Madara could only pick up his laptop from the floor and sort the discarded papers he had wanted to read. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Hashirama shrugged off his jacket aggressively and turned away from Madara to rub his face and redo his hair so hurriedly, it just ended up looking worse than before.

Strands broke free, it looked good, but the haunted way Hashirama mustered him with made everything worse. “Mito broke up with me.”

“Sorry,” Madara sighed, “but I can’t say I’m surprised though.”

“I thought she might actually be _the one_.” Funny, how they had known each other for close to two decades and Hashirama still got offended with every hint of Madara's bluntness. Then again, Madara still got annoyed with Hashirama's open emotional manipulation through easy laughter and soft pleas.

“She didn’t though obviously.”

Ouch, that sounded harsh even to Madara himself, but he didn’t reword. If Mito had broken up with him then that ship had sailed and it would be better to rip away all hope of a happy turn.

Hashirama opened the first bottle with a loud pop and took a long sip. “Three years. I thought we'd talk this through and maybe… don’t know, work our problems out.” Hashirama had thought about proposing next year. Madara knew, because he had been subjected to the first tentative plans.

“Talking about problems has been all you’ve been doing for a while now.”

“I know.” Hashirama sighed and took an even longer sip. “But I thought we’d… stick through this. I really liked her.”

_Like_ , always _like._ With his flirtateous, charming romancing and easy compliments Hashirama didn't appear like someone that held back on the word `love´, but in the twenty years of friendship Madara had heard him use it with family only. Maybe this was partially part of the problem. Relationship after relationship Hashirama seemingly commited completely and yet there was always a barrier left to cross.

There was obviously something he kept holding back and Madara couldn't keep in a snort. “This isn’t like the old times where people met, married and had to keep quite because they were stuck with each other and a flock of kids.”

“Yeah.” Hashirama didn’t even stop before he dropped to the floor and lifted the bottle again. “Gosh, I need to move out now. Do you think I could stay here for a couple of weeks till I found something?”

“Sure, if you clean up after yourself.”

“You know I do.”

“History tells a different story. I'll call Tobirama as soon as you start leaving your dirty boxers everywhere.” Madara was only half serious, the prospect of having Hashirama here for an extended amount of time was too great.

“I'll be good, I promise.” Hashirama smiled at him through a series of snivels. “Thanks Mads.”

Hashirama lifted his bottle as if to toast to him and drank again. The line of his neck, the way it moved with every sip had Madara's eyes caught in a lock, but there was a lot of distraction.

Really, Madara wanted to chide himself, because it was safer to turn away towards the kitchen and fall back on a more comfortable topic. “You know that drinking is a bad idea. You'll pass out on my couch again and I'll have to nurse you back to health.”

Not that Madara actually minded and to a certain degreee Hashirama knew that he was only giving token resistance.

“Sorry. You know I haven't touched a bottle in months.” To his credit, Hashirama actually sounded remorseful. “Just tonight, I promise.”

“A lot of promises to hold.”

“I got you to keep a tap on me. You're a good friend.” He smiled with perfect radiance, bright enough to power Madara's heart into race.

As he usually did, Madara fled before he could possibly embaress himself to get glasses and food. 

Madara watched out of the corner of his eye as Hashirama found several long strands of black hair on his socks (Madara hadn't hovered the carpet) and started to twist them around the neck of his bottle along with equally long brown ones. His fingers looked even longer against the thickness of the bottle's body, the unsconsious tap they kept and the silent sound of his nails clinking against the glass.

_Snacks Madara_ , he reminded himself. Surely Hashirama hadn’t thought about eating something and drinking on an empty stomach was even worse.

Horrible really that a part of Madara beamed with giddy pleasure at this turn of events. He did not want to take comfort in Hashirama’s misery, but Madara had never pretended to be a saint and jealousy was a difficult beast to subdue.

Hashirama was here. He was here with _him_ instead of anyone else and it felt like a warm coil of cotton flipped through his stomach.

Over the years Madara had recognised the ache in his heart and the warmth in his stomach whenever he looked at Hashirama for the emotion that it was.

Love.

Desire.

Desperate longing to take care and be taken care in turn.

Something very much unrequited, because Hashirama had had girlfriends and had never so much as thrown a second glance at Madara. At least not as anything else than a best friend.

Some days, Madara wanted to cry. If only he had had some years as an inquisitive teenager without this doomed crush. Like this, he would live and die without as much as a kiss.

On his own volition, of course. If it was just about physical relief or the knowledge in intimacy, Madara was sure he would’ve found someone to touch or _wrestle in the sheets with_. This was not a matter of wanting in general, but of wanting someone specifically. Someone very much out of reach.

Their first meeting had been quite unconventional.

Alone and miserable at barely ten, after a difficult move to the city, Madara had started to look for outlets of this ghastly mood.

`I hate maths´ written on a table with a thick black sharpie had not been a healthy way to let go of bored frustration, but with every lesson stuck at that same table in the back of a classroom filled with strangers, Madara had kept going until a big part of the table top's corner was covered in angry exclamations.

Notes like `I'm bored´ had changed to `I wish Mr. Nara could die from spontaneous combustion´ very fast and after that last one especially, Madara had been sure someone would report him.

Then they would have had to expel him and maybe, _maybe_ he would have been allowed to go back to his old school, to his real friends and his real home.

A week later nothing had happened and he honestly had been surprised when he returned and found his scribble painted over by a very ugly flower that had made his message completely unreadable.

Next to it, in tiny pencil letters, someone had drawn a sad smiley and written a small reply `That isn’t very nice. Are you angry? I hope you like my sunflower.´

Obviously, Madara had replied with something more offensive only to find a tree drawn over it the following week.

So week after week, every single angry thought of Madara had turned into a thick forest of flowers and trees and kind words till half the table was covered in black.

How no one had noticed so far was beyond him.

From small scribbles and messages to stories to – eventually, after a lot of pestering – a name, Madara had made his very first friend in this new forsaken place.

Hashirama.

Sunny boy Hashirama Senju had been surrounded by peers and fiercely guarded by his ghostly brother and had been so very different to unpopular, strange new kid Madara. And still, their friendship had bloomed.

Especially, when both of them had gotten reported and sent to the principal’s office to be lectured for `vandalising school property´. They spend an entire afternoon at school cleaning their table and Hashirama had cried at this loss of memories, but they had burned themselves into Madara's brain long before that. To him, it was more painful that his father had made him pay off the fine by installments from his pocket money over an entire year.

At eleven, Hashirama’s parents had divorced and through the heartache of a broken home and split up siblings (Tobirama and Hashirama with their father, Itama and Kawarama with their mother on the other side of the country), they had sworn to stick through thick and thin.

If everything else turned to shit around them, at least they would remain a constant.

And that still held true, mostly.

Between the two of them, Hashirama had always been the one to dream up the impossible. Or at least, the unconventional.

But their dreams of a life lived together in eternal friendship, in one house with a big garden and all their siblings around, no screaming, no mean words and good food and delicious sweets in abundance - while childish - still were something Madara thought back on with stubborn nostalgia.

Really, Madara should have burried that years ago.

Both of them would turn thirty this year.

Someday, Hashirama would marry some lucky girl, buy a picket-fenced white house in the suburbs to raise 2.5 kids and invite him over once a month for lunch out of courtesy.

And Madara would still pin for him even on his deathbed.

At least, he wouldn’t never be alone. His family was big and there’d always be someone willing to talk to or give him a hug, but to have a partner for life would have been nice.

Well… maybe he’d adopt a dozen cats at some point or he’d move in with one of his brothers once they started procreating, just to lend a hand as a babysitter.

But for now, like so often when another of his relationships broke off, Hashirama was back in Madara’s apartment to rebalance his life. To find back to himself in a way, or maybe to remind himself that there was one center of trust he could fall back on.

And Madara would count his blessings as long as he was granted Hashirama's undivided attention and presence.

Half an hour later, Madara was sure that he hadn't seen Hashirama this drunk in quite some time. 

Stretched out over the floor like a big sea star, Hashirama mumbled into the semi-darkness of the room. “Do you think dolphins could drive a rocket?”

Madara leaned against the couch and had his head rested on the cushions, his eyes closed and no inclination to open. He had taken a drink, but only sipped on it. “You’re an idiot.”

“But do you think they could, like, get education and go to college and graduate?”

“No. They might be smart for an animal, but they aren't that smart.”

“But how do you know?”

Boy, things like these had happened before. As usual, Madara grew annoyed and opened his eyes to glare at nothing in particular. The ceiling was white, the walls too. Maybe he should’ve added more colour, but he liked it like this, covered in pictures of family, but otherwise devoid of identity. “You’re a real piece of work.”

“You think so? You think that’s why Mito didn’t wanna stay with me?” Beneath the slight slur of alcohol and the haze of his eyes was a real hint of hurt.

Madara mustered him carefully. There were certain signs to Hashirama's pain and Madara was more careful to answer softly. “I manage too, don’t I? It is a matter of compatibility and respect.”

“Yeah.” Hashirama snivelled and it sounded suspiciously like he was about to cry, but he only sighed. “You’re a good friend. Really, really, really… good... Do you want to get sushi tomorrow? I'll buy you sushi. All the Ura-Maki you want.”

Hashirama was distracting from something, Madara could tell by the lilt in his voice. For all that he seemed clumsy at times or as open as a book, he was just as good as keeping his mind closed off. Not when he was drunk though.

Something had him thoughtful, it was bothering enough that he wanted to bring it up, but he was worried it would offend, but Madara had no such time for an ill-fitted dance around any topic. “What's on your mind?”

Hiding his face would not help Hashirama to cover his unease when Madara had already seen it flash across his face and still he rolled in on himself like a hedgehog.

It tool a long minute and several well placed jolts with Madara's foot to get him to turn back. As if to take in some bravery, Hashirama tried to take another sip while lying down, but luckily his glass was empty and so when he tilted it against his mouth and it slipped, it only hit his own face and did not drench the carpet with liquid. “People think we’re a _thing_.”

What else was new. Madra could barely hold back a self-ironic laugh. “I know.”

Apparently, this was news to Hashirama. He sat up with surprising speed and shock, but almost immediately sank in on himself to hold his head. “You knew?!”

Madara turned his head very slowly, but gave Hashirama a long stare. “Are you suggesting that you had no clue?”

Hashirama pouted and tried to kick his hip. “No, but it doesn’t bother me. Personally I think I could do worse as far as fake lovers go, but-”

“You’re drunk, stop rambling.” Madara really didn’t want to hear whatever reason Hashirama had to find even the thought of being in a relationship with him offensive.

Hashirama broke his thoughts with a violent snivel. “Mito thought that there was something between us too.”

“Does this mean she broke up with you because of me?”

Hashirama’s head whipped around and his eyes were big and pleading. “No! No, you don’t have to feel guilty at all.”

“Who says I do?” Well, that was probably also not the right thing to say.

Hashirama was way to honest and kind to ever cheat on anyone. That said, he was not without his mieschief and ulterior motives, but he valued honesty and loyalty.

If Mito had been too blind to realise that, Madara felt like she did not deserve him. “If she started accusing you of infidelity already, maybe it’s better like this.”

“She just said that I spent so much time with you and that we were growing apart, like, something’s edging between us.”

“And that something was supposed to be me?” Mito was more observant then Hashirama, it was very possible that she had noticed Madara’s feelings, but she must have noticed that Hashirama was blind as a bat when it came to things like this. “Very vague. You’re sure _she_ wasn’t cheating?”

“I trust her, she’s too proud to lie or be disloyal. She would’ve told me.” Hashirama took a deep breath. “It’s not your fault, really it’s mine. I should’ve seen she was concerned and should’ve cleared things up sooner. Especially when she told me that she thinks there's…” his hand wiggled between them awkwardly, “some spark.”

Madara actually tensed and slowly lifted his head to look at Hashirama who wasn’t even looking in his direction.

Hashirama had sat up, a bit uncoordinated and hair an untypical chaos were it was always free from its hastily bound knot. His voice was more a slur than his usual bellowing laugh. “I don’t know how she jumped to conclusions like that, but it's quite funny that she thinks you're sleeping with me, when...” and he surprised Madara with surprisingly steady eye contact, “you haven’t even told me about your sex life.”

Ah.

This was heading in very uncomfortable directions very suddenly. Madara could feel his ears warming and he had the very sudden urge to get more snack from the kitchen if only to evade this conversation, but Hashirama sat right between him and the door.

So he made a very vague sound and hoped Hashirama would accept that as his answer and not dig deeper into that topic.

“I mean, I figured you didn’t want to tell me.” It was very hard not to squirm on the spot under Hashirama’s amused yet inquisitive eyes, but maybe there was a level of frustration in Hashirama's voice. “But well, now that I think about it, it’s kind of weird. You know everything about me. You know about the chocolate-sauce fiasco, the trampoline thing, you even know that I my first time happened in a-”

“Okay.” Madara interrupted. “Where are you getting with this?”

There was no need to refresh his memory. The first summer during highschool, Hashirama had called from his mother's house at the other side of the country where he spend an entir month to break his heart twice. Once during the first week of his month-long holiday to tell him that he had met a girl that he liked more than any before and a second time during the last week to tell him that he had sex with her. Just like that Madara's already small hope that his feelings would be well-received had vanished into thin air.

Madara liked to think that he was the only one Hashirama had told all these things to, but Hashirama was an open person so there was the very real possibility that Madara was just one of many.

“Like, there’s nothing you don’t know. Nothing I can think of at least.” Hashirama had averted his eyes to stare at the wall and hadn't caught on that Madara's mood had soured. When he lifted a hand to rub his eyes Madara took another small sip of his drink. “Is there something you don’t know about me?”

“How the hell would _I_ _know_?”

But Hashirama had already rambled on. “I don’t even know about your first kiss. How have I never asked you this before? Was she pretty?”

Oh, he had asked countless of times, but Madara had been skilled enough to deceive his efforts. 

For some reason, tonight was different. Tonight, Hashirama would not let him get away with deception.

Maybe it was the alcohol, probably the raw emotions of a hurting and bleeding breakup that had Hashirama turn onto all-fours and crawl towards Madara with piercing eyes and under that intense gaze, Madara heart started to race. “Or was it a man? You know I don’t care.”

“That’s none of your business.”

“Come on, Mads, just these three things. When, where and with whom.”

The line of his throat, the way his t-shirt stretched over the span of his shoulders, how it edged up just far enough to reveal a sliver of sunkissed skin. It burned itself into Madara’s memory.

He had to sit up and reach for his barely touched glass to empty it in a single sip. The drink - sake? - tasted like dust and it burned his throat. Maybe his flaming hot cheeks would pass for a side effect of the alcohol now.

Hashirama was still getting closer. Close enough to lean into his personal space, his fingers just inches away from touching Madara's knee. 

Maybe Madara should move back to make space for him to lean against the couch too, but he found himself frozen to the spot. He coughed when he tried to speak. “What? Kissing?”

There was blood pounding through his ears that cancelled out so much of the sounds around him and he couldn’t decide what to look at.

“Duh.” Hashirama’s face was still open and inquisitive. He would definitely not focus on his mouth - too enticing-, not his eyes either, because Madara was sure he would have a heart attack if he had to hold eye contact now. His broad shoulders, oh no, maybe the way his hair had loosened from its band and started to spill over his shoulders.

Still frozen in panic, Madara almost jumped when Hashirama dropped himself against the couch next to him close enough to have their shoulders nudge and his hair tickle Madara's neck.

A bolt of electricity surged through him with the sudden touch, but he managed to stay still.

Madara cleared his throat, but his voice was rough and small. “You know all of this, you were there.”

At twelve, it had sounded like an awesome idea to try kissing. It had been nothing more than a peck and it had taken a herculean effort to not be weird afterwards, but at the memory alone, Madara had touched his lips even years after.

His shoulders tensed when Hashirama shook in laughter against his side, but Madara’s stomach clenched with warmth. “Na, that doesn't count. We were kids and our lips barely touched. When was your _real_ first kiss.”

Well…

Maybe…

Madara thought about lying. Maybe he could make something up to stifle Hashirama's curiosity and then change the topic forcefully, but something kept his throat in a tight grip.

He couldn’t speak even if he had seriously wanted to.

He looked away, to the ground, to the snacks. His fingers clenched around strands of his shag-pile carpet.

It was white, awful to keep free from his own hair that managed to collect, but a welcome distraction. If only there hadn't been just as many brown strands laced between the strands. The twisted ring of hair around Hashirama's empty bottle was a reminder that the trace of Hashirama in his life was so strong, it was hard to remember sometimes that there had been a time before him.

Painful minutes passed in telling silence until Madara could see Hashirama’s expression changed from the corner of his eye. From expectation to frustration to confusion to – finally – awareness and Madara caught the exact moment his eyes widened. “You never…”

For some reason, Madara felt the surge of anger. Embarrassed too, because Hashirama didn’t need to stare at him like he was some kind of unconventional freak. “No, dipshit. I haven’t.”

“Oh.”

Finally, Hashirama’s head fell back onto the cushion of the couch and he stared at the ceiling.

And silence prolonged again and Madara really did not want to break it.

It was awkward.

And somehow not.

But Madara was left hanging in uncomfortable anticipation to see where this would be going.

Until Hashirama decided to press even deeper into the wound. “So…” Hashirama started and then threw him a very careful glance. “You’ve never… been with anyone?”

“Shut up. I would’ve told you… if there had been anything worth telling.”

Hashirama’s head rolled back to stare at the ceiling. “I just assumed you didn’t want to tell me.”

Madara nudged his shoulder, hard. “Moron, of course I would’ve told you.”

“So, you haven’t slept with anyone?”

Madara kept his eyes locked to the same spot on the ground he had mustered before. He had purposefully kept it a secret.

The concept of virginity was something heavily stigmatised, probably more so for women, but still the weird judgement that came along with either `having lost´it or `keeping onself´ was nothing Madara wanted to be a part of.

So, did he even have to say anything?

Apparently not, because after a minute of tension, Hashirama drew his conclusions and pressed forward despite the tension. “But do you not want to have sex thought?”

“Hashirama.” Madara ran a hand over his face, but he sounded more tired than angry. “Shut. Up.”

“Sorry, sorry. I’m just curious.”

“Just, stop.”

Never letting anyone close enough to even try for a kiss was not an issue, at least Madara didn’t feel like he had missed out on anything worth exploring, but to be put under the spotlight like this made him feel insecure still.

Madara reached for the box of donuts he had saved for tomorrow morning, but now was an equally good time to indulge, especially since Madara could feel the lightheadedness set in and Hashirama kept throwing him looks.

But Hashirama just couldn't let go of the topic. “So… you’re not asexual or aromantic or both?”

Madara closed his eyes to slowly shake his head, getting words out would’ve been too hard.

“And you’re single.”

“Obviously, idiot.”

“And I’m single.”

“Hashirama, where the fuck to think this conversation is-”

“I could _help_.”

Madara gave him a long and suffering look. The sudden urge to slap him was strong. “Sure, what’ll you do? Hire a hooker to _break me in_? Offer someone on the street ten bucks to give me a _french kiss_? Or, godforbid, ask that antisocial brother of yours that is probably a virgin himself?”

It sounded worse with all the poison in his voice.

And then Hashirama dropped the biggest metaphorical bomb. “No! I mean… you’re my best friend and I could sleep with you.”

“ _What_?”

Hashirama’s hands did a _very_ suggestive motion and Madara nearly dropped the rest of his donut and choked on the unchewed bite he had taken.

This had to be a fever dream. Madara certainly felt hot enough to warrant illusions.

Hashirama’s cheeks went a little red and he shrugged, but kept his gaze carefully guarded behind lashes when he glance up at Madara. “I mean, you probably don’t wanna, but I could… you know… show you stuff, it’s just an idea though.” And his face broke into a sloppy, but charming grin.

Madara was pretty sure his entire head was on fire.

His appetite was gone, so he set down his donut and stared at it.

In a way, this was like his wildest dream come true. But he had to stay clear headed, as best as possible at least.

Because this had already had Madara’s heart racing and his cheeks flushed, but worse than that, with every time Hashirama started talking about them as anything more than friends, he got his hopes up dangerously high.

And eventually it was him that would fall… from Hashirama’s grace and to the cold bottom of reality.

Madara had known Hashirama long enough to know that there was a very different side behind his naïve façade. He had just never seen Hashirama’s demeanour change quite so rapidly. And he had definitely never seen this nuaced expression directed at him.

Hashirama tilted his head just right to have his hair fall free and pool over his shoulder, his face free to admire and a body posture that conveyed interest and _flirt_. He hadn’t realised just how wasted Hashirama had gotten.

There it was, a titbit of information he hadn’t known about Hashirama. “I didn’t even know you were bi.”

Hashirama shrugged uncoordinated. “I don’t know if I am.”

“Then how the hell do you even come up with something like this?”

“I wanna help you.”

“You want to… with me.”

“Is that weird?”

“You-” Madara has to stop and _breathe_. “You’re not talking about a friendly hand job.” It was both, a question and a statement.

A single wink before Hashirama leaned even closer managed to weaken Madara’s knees to the point where he couldn’t breathe. “We can start with a handjob and go on from there.”

Heat surged into Madara’s cheeks so fast, he couldn’t keep his eyes from widening. He was sure his heart was gonna vibrate out of his chest if he thought about this any longer than he already had.

Hashirama's eyes turned impossibly dark as his weight pushed against Madara strong enough that he had to flex his stomach to keep upright. He almost loomed over Madara like this and he smelled like sake.

Madara's mouth felt very dry and his voice was nothing more than a whisper. “Not gonna lie, that’s not very straight of you.”

“I don’t care about labels.” He was still so close and his shoulder a hot weight against Madara’s. His eyes were suddenly very unfocused as he watched Hashirama’s hazy gaze and flushed cheeks. “You’re single, I’m single. You love me, I love you. And this light makes you look _really_ hot.”

Madara wasn’t aware that he made a sound, but he must have, because suddenly Hashirama stared at him in surprise with new found focus and something heavy and heated.

_Love, but still not the same_ , a part of Madara's brain helpfully screamed. To Hashirama, he was the closest thing to family outside his actually family. To Madara, Hashirama was the start and the end of his own personal map of the world.

Only that Madara didn't recognise that look. No one had ever mustered him like this, so he was not sure how to interpret the intensity, but his something in him _throbbed with want_.

“Madara-” Now Hashirama’s voice was hoarse and questioning with something Madara couldn’t put his finger on, but the low vibration of his name from Hashirama’s lips like this had goosebumps erupt along his spine and heat surged into his cheeks.

Madara’s voice left him half way through that word and it came out more as a breath. “Yes?”

He unconsciously licked his lips and Hashirama’s eyes flickered down to follow the movement.

A warm hand came to rest on his cheek and pressed its heavy callouses against his jaw. A thumb graced over Madara’s lip and pressed down slightly and Madara felt his lips part instinctually to accomodate the movement.

Then Hashirama leaned in, so slowly and carefully to keep their eyes locked, and still Madara didn’t catch on his intentions immediately. 

Only when he felt Hashirama's warm breath on his own lips did he come back to rationality.

In a surge of cold fear down his spine, Madara’s hand came up to push Hashirama’s head aside at the very last second before they would inevitably kiss and with a hoarse rasp he said. “You’re drunk.”

“But-”

“No.” And this one was more for himself, to reaffirm his stand despite the first tell of tightness in his jeans. “No, you’ll regret this tomorrow.”

“Mads-”

“Shut up.” He gave his sternum a hard push and rushed to stand to bring more distance between them and hide his embaressment, but he himself was drunk and unsteady so it was less elegant than he had liked to be. “You’re drunk, you just lost Mito. I’m not gonna be your emotional punching bag.”

Embaressement was a heavy weight that wrapped itself around him like an unwanted wollen scarf. Too tight, too warm, too rough and uncomfortable.

Before Madara could turn and vanish into the kitchen to flee from this sobering moment, Hashirama managed to grab his ankle and held him in place.

Of course, Madara could’ve pulled free if he had truly wanted to, but Hashirama’s gaze was so firm, it was hard for Madara to look away.

His lips felt raw were Hashirama’s breath had touched them. When he looked down at Hashirama kneeling in front of him like this, a slight tingly burn of heat and want surged through his stomach, it had him feeling a little ill and shaky. 

Hashirama looked sheepish, insecure almost as he bit his lip at this proposition of his. “I may be drunk, but I meant what I said.”

To leave him hanging would’ve been satisfying and could’ve balanced out some of the awkward weight Madara felt, but this topic was way to fucking far out of his comfort zone already so Madara would not play around. “You really mean it?”

Almost eager, Hashirama nodded. “If you're in, I'm in.”

**Author's Note:**

> So, I hope you enjoyed it at least a bit :) 
> 
> What do you reckon these two idiots do? 
> 
> I'm tempted to write a follow up, let me know if you're interested.


End file.
